


It Was You

by l0velyfe



Category: Daft Punk, Daft Slash - Fandom, Guy-Manuel de Homem Christo, Thomas Bangalter - Fandom
Genre: French Robots, Jealousy, Kissing, M/M, Robots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-01
Updated: 2014-03-22
Packaged: 2018-01-14 03:55:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1251814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/l0velyfe/pseuds/l0velyfe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thomas and Guy attend a Grammy after-party, but something goes awry. Guy finds himself in a hotel room with a questioning Thomas, and a confession ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is actually my first time writing for DP, but I must say, I've fallen nose over toes into this fandom. 
> 
> There is a bit of French dialogue, but it's pretty self-explanatory. If you're really curious, Google-translate it~

Fingers tugged somewhat clumsily at the bottom of his helmet until the latch released with a puff of air. Guy pulled it from his head and refrained from heaving it across the room, instead setting it on the table beside the bed. The cool air felt wondrous on his clammy cheeks, but the removal of the helmet was similar to the removal of a mask, a wall, and soon, his eyes were wet. Fingers shaking with distress, he fumbled for the pack of cigarettes in the top drawer. He couldn’t be bothered to cross the room and push the curtained window open; he simply slid the ashtray closer to the edge of the bedside table, plopping down on the well-used mattress and lighting the tip of the cigarette. Only when he inhaled deeply and the thick nicotine filled his lungs and he did find some sense of calm. He exhaled, smoke propelling forward before spiraling up.

The past few days had been incredible, really, and for him to be upset right now was absurd. To win four Grammys in one year was outstanding, and one might mistake his apathy for indifference toward the awards, but really, he was flattered. They hadn’t expected anything like this; rather, they’d been anticipating the opposite. Neither of them craved the fame, but Guy felt some satisfaction knowing people were enjoying their music. _“That’s why we do what we do,”_ Thomas would say. _“We were born to create music.”_

Thomas. Guy took another long drag of his smoke. His friend was probably hidden away somewhere now, reenacting their Grammy-winning song.

Truthfully, though must people looked forward to the after-parties, Guy wasn’t quite as enthusiastic about them. He wasn’t one for huge events – granted, he was more accustomed to them than he used to be – but he wasn’t really one for partying and drunken antics that would make headlines tomorrow, should the paparazzi find their way in. Honestly, were it not for a certain tall, curly-haired man with a gentle smile and hazel eyes, he wouldn’t have shown his face - er, rather, _helmet_. But, with Thomas by his side, he felt compelled enough to try to enjoy the night. The music had been good, vibrations of the beat thrumming through his body as he stood by while Thomas socialized. The penthouse was spacious, complete with a deck that overlooked the city. The two had escaped the heat of the party to stand on the patio. They’d indulged in drinks, tilting their helmets back in the privacy of each other. Everything had been agreeable.

It had been a fleeting moment, amongst a crowd a people swaying to the rhythm. A girl, tall – taller than Guy by quite a few inches and nearly as tall as Thomas with heels – latched herself onto Thomas’ arm, whispering things into his ear that Guy could not hear. But he hadn’t missed the coy smile upon her lips or the devious look in her eyes. And before Guy could blink twice, Thomas was being tugged away by the minx.

“ _Désolé_ , Guy. _Je vais revenir_.”

The murmur was husky and soft in his ear, spoken through the mounted communicator inside their helmets, but Guy hardly heard the apologetic farewell. Fingers tightened around his cup as he was left alone faster than he could have dreamed.

Dreams. Guy had been having them frequently lately, and the taller male had been inhabiting every single one. There were many scenarios, each leaving him feeling a different way in the morning glow of sunlight through the window. Some were more akin to nightmares, others leaving him rather flustered. But, in every one, he was accompanied by Thomas, and he couldn’t help but notice his friend’s radiance; Thomas was laughing, he was glowing, he was _alive_. He stood out, sharp and sepia-toned amidst blurred, gray shadows. Guy wasn’t sure how long he’d felt this way; there was a fine line between the close friendship they’d formed over the years and something more. And he wasn’t one to speak his feelings; no, he’d rather express them through music or art.

Inhaling what would be the cigarette’s final breath, Guy shut his eyes tight. He knew it wasn’t Thomas’ fault, nor the unnamed girl’s, but the image of Thomas’ helmet nodding in time with his head to her proposal lingered. He could still see those long legs weaving through the crowd, away from him, and his vision was blurry once more-…

He didn’t know what was wrong with him. Never before had he been so jealous, and it didn’t make sense. What made this any different than the other times? With other girls, even with his wife, Guy had never felt this tightness in his chest. Thomas had always been a venereal person – more so than Guy, anyway, but that wasn’t a difficult feat – and with the continuous months spent in America, Thomas and Elodie had come to the mutual decision of an open-marriage when it came to intimacy. Though it seemed to be a strange thing to consider in America, to them, it wasn’t all that odd. Elodie’s acting took her away from home often, and with the new album, there were countless events to attend, and things seemed to be adding to their list of things to do faster than they could check them off. And, on top of all the frenzy, Guy was fighting back jealousy for his best friend and a girl with whom he was having a one-night stand. And it was just that; a one-night stand, and Guy knew that; he knew she meant nothing more to Thomas than a few minutes or hours of pleasure, but it still irked him.

Guy had never experienced such a whirlwind of emotions; **anger** , at Thomas for abandoning him at the party, at himself for feeling this way about his best friend; **jealousy** , at the thought of the two behind closed doors, of the girl for her opportunity to share such a moment with him; **dejection** , because he wasn’t the one Thomas yearned to touch; **regret** , for not telling him the truth; **fear** , at the thought of telling him the truth… the list could continue.

A soft thud followed by the click of the latch shook him from his thoughts. Quickly putting the cigarette out in the ashtray, Guy waved his hand to dissipate the smoke. He moved over to the door with bare feet and peeked around it.

“ _Bonjour_ , Guy-Man!”

His tone was cheery, legs still somewhat clumsy beneath his weight – had he indulged in more drinks in Guy’s absence? And what was he doing back so early? Guy had expected him home very late, perhaps after the after-party’s after-party, even.

Wrinkling his nose, he pushed the door shut as quietly as he could, turned the lock, and stepped away from the door. With heavy limbs, he shed his clothing to change into something more comfortable. The cotton was soft against his skin as he shifted to lie on his back in his fully-made bed, ample space on either side of him.

His ears were hypersensitive as they picked up every little noise; the opening of the refrigerator, the clink of glass, the silence that followed, and finally, the sound of water echoing off shower walls. Guy closed his eyes.

He could still remember the day he’d handed over the mix tape during lunch period. They’d been very young; Guy with long, flowing hair, a softer build, oh-so-shy, and Thomas with his gawky movements, not quite grown into his height, hair a curly mess upon his head. They’d talked a few times about their favorite bands and about their love of music, and Guy, lacking friends and wanting Thomas to regard him in such a way, had offered himself over in the only way he knew how. Thomas had smiled – that gentle, soft smile that he still possessed to this very day; the one that made his eyes crinkle at the corners. They’d found themselves at Thomas’ house later that week, jamming on his instruments.

“Guy?”

The voice on the other side of the door was so soft that Guy wasn’t even sure he’d heard it. But, knuckles rapped on the wood; one, two, three, four times; so like Thomas. It was one of their codes they’d created when they were young. Four knocks, so Guy would know it was Thomas and not a serial killer, and vice versa. It was a habit, so often used over years and years that it didn’t even require any thought. And it summed up their relationship perfectly.

“Guy?” came another murmur, soft and sincere. “ _S'il vous plaît_. Let me in.”

After a moment of hesitation, Guy shifted in his bed and padded across the room to unlock the door and pull it open. On the other side stood a half-clothed, somber-faced Thomas; thin, cotton pajama pants clinging to slim hips, dark, sparse hair splaying across his chest, jaw and chin coated in stubble, wet curls lying limply upon his head. He looked younger than he had in years.

“Are you angry with me?”

Thomas’ question irritated Guy. “What do you think,” he deadpanned, turning away from his taller companion. By the creaking of the floor, Guy could tell Thomas was following his steps further into the room.

“Why?” he questioned. Guy didn’t bother with an answer and a short silence followed, but Thomas broke into it once more with a low murmur. “Because I left you at the party? Or, because I was with that girl?”

Guy’s heart nearly stopped in his chest; instead, it fluttered wildly, laboring his breathing. He turned halfway back, avoiding Thomas’ gaze. “Why would I be upset over you–…”

“ _Idiot_ ,” Thomas muttered, accent thick on his tongue. “I know you.”

Guy could feel his ears growing red and hot, and he glanced back at his partner.  Thomas’ eyes were clear.

“ _Viens-ici_ ,” he murmured, lifting a hand to mimic his words, beckoning with fingers in the way he always did when he wanted Guy close. The shorter male hesitated in obliging him, irritation still lingering in his chest, but finally, he edged closer, allowing those long arms to envelope him.

To say he felt comfortable against Thomas’ body was an understatement. He felt at home. Thomas was someone he’d known for so long, someone who knew him better than anyone else in this world. He was his haven.

“ _Couche avec moi_ , Guillaume.”

They moved to the bed, lying down upon the patterned sheet. Guy’s face remained hidden, nose pressed against bare shoulder. There was no trace of usual lemon cologne; only _Thomas_ – the scent of musky vanilla; his soap and natural smell combined.

“Why did you come back so early? I thought you would stay until late,” Guy asked, voice muffled by Thomas’ shoulder. The man huffed a small laugh, chest moving with the breath.

“It was boring without you,” he mumbled, mouth somewhere near Guy’s hair.

“Couldn’t have been _too_ boring,” Guy retorted. Thomas knew exactly what he was referring to.

“The _party_ was boring,” he rephrased. Guy didn’t respond for a long while, and silence fell between them. Thomas’ breathing evened out beneath him and Guy’s mind began to wander.

Maybe Thomas knew, maybe he didn’t. Maybe he had a sneaky suspicion, maybe he thought he knew, or maybe he didn’t grasp the extent behind Guy’s reaction. Maybe Guy should tell him. Or, maybe he shouldn’t. They’d been friends for so long; business partners in one way, a musical duo in another, and stepping over such a fine line could spoil it all.

“What has you so upset?” Thomas’ voice broke the quiet and Guy startled, having thought he was sleeping. He remained silent, though, and Thomas prodded him. “Come on, Guy. _Dites-moi_.”

Reluctant to speak, Guy turned his head move into Thomas’ shoulder, pressing his nose into the warmth of the junction between hard collarbone and soft muscle. The taller male sighed, though it seemed more out of exasperation than annoyance.

“You know, if I didn’t know any better, I would think you were _jaloux_.” Guy stiffened against his body, but Thomas left little pause. His breath was near Guy’s ear as he spoke again. “Are you jealous, Guillaume?”

Thomas had never used that tone with him before. It was low; almost a voice one would assume would be reserved for an intimate moment, and Guy couldn’t find the sense to respond. Long fingers traced through his hair, making him shudder. “Hmm?” Thomas hummed in question.

Although he knew his face must be red, ears and all, he lifted his head to gaze at his friend uncertainly. Thomas’ expression was gentle; sincere, yet there was something else in his eyes.

How absurd this was, Guy so nervous to tell Thomas something he probably already knew. He felt like a teenager again, knocking knees and dry mouth, trying to ask a crush to the winter dance. Still, no matter how many times he repeated _how stupid_ this was in his head, the words clung to his tongue, reluctant to roll off and subject themselves to Thomas’ ears.

“I…” He faltered, losing some of his nerve at the sound of his own voice.

“You…?”

“… I might have been jealous,” he murmured. It wasn’t quite what he’d wanted to say, but it was a start. Thomas’ brows rose slightly, waiting, but when Guy said no more, he spoke.

“But why? Because you demand all my attention?” The corners of his lips curved upwards into a slight smirk of amusement. Guy swallowed thickly. Thomas’ smile fell. “Or because you wanted to be in her place?”

Silence followed the question. Guy held Thomas’ gaze for a few moments before looking down at the white and green sheet. Thomas pushed himself up to sit beside Guy, dark eyes searching what he could see of his friend’s face.

“Guy,” he said, voice soft; single syllable low, no trace of accusation, nor contempt. He didn’t regain that pale gaze, but he continued anyway. “How long has this been…?”

The other lowered his head, almost as if he was ashamed. “I dunno, really, I mean I… lost track,” he murmured, voice tapering off at the end of his sentence like it tended to do.

“Guy. _Guillaume_.”

The strengthening of his tone and use of his full name finally pulled Guy’s eyes back to him. Thomas saw the shy, uncertain boy from their youth before him; the vulnerability reared its head as if emerging from the depths of wherever Guy had stuffed it.

“ _Débile_ ,” he murmured fondly, reaching forward to brush away a stray lock of dark hair, uncovering a still-pink face. “You could have had me all this time, had you wanted, had I known…” His brows furrowed slightly. “What can I do now?”

Chromatic eyes searched the genuine expression for a long moment before he spoke. It was a calculated risk.

“ _Embrassez-moi_.”

The pause was short. Thomas’ breath was warm, the scent of margarita still lingering as lips pressed against each other. It was sweet; chaste, even. The stubble of Thomas’ chin tickled Guy’s own as the taller leaned forward, fingers wrapping around Guy’s forearms and tugging him back to lie beside him on the bed. Their mouths parted regretfully, leaving Guy reveling in the phantom feel of soft lips moving against his.

“Guy.”

He opened his eyes, finding Thomas gazing back at him.

“ _Dors, mon doux_.”

Maybe they hadn’t truly found a resolution, but it was good enough to Guy tonight. Eyes slipping closed, he exhaled slowly, focusing on the feel of a warm hand gripping his opposite shoulder. The gentle rocking of Thomas’ chest moving with his breathing lulled him to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I wasn't originally going to write a second chapter of this story... the plan was for it to be a oneshot. But I had a few requests to continue it, and I finally finished. I hope you guys like it.
> 
> This chapter contains explicit material... you've been warned~

The soft glow warmed his face, rousing him from his slumber. Blinking open drowsy eyes, he watched the specks of dust float effortlessly amongst the rays of sunlight that filtered between pale hotel curtains. They spiraled about, twisting and turning and changing direction, as if unsure of which way to go next.

Slowly, he awakened his other senses. He shifted to lengthen the muscles of his legs, the feel of the sheet’s fabric rubbing against his calves as he moved. He inhaled deeply, the scent of smoke still lingering faintly amongst the smell of vanilla. The sound of soft breathing behind him reached his ears, capturing his attention, and the gears in his mind began turning.

The heat behind him, curled against him, the long arms wrapped around his midsection, and the breath all belonged to Thomas. His musical partner, the duo’s other half, his _best friend_. His best friend, and they had kissed in such a way last night–… Guy shut his eyes again. Maybe if he went back to sleep, this would all go away.

With a sigh, he shifted to untangle himself from the other man’s loose grip as delicately as he could, tip-toeing out of the room with a backward glance to make sure Thomas was still asleep.

After filling the filter and pouring the water, the rich smell of coffee began to fill his nose. Guy lit a cigarette, eyes on the blue sky outside as the coffee machine rumbled and brewed behind him on the counter. He didn’t usually smoke so often – not near as often as he used to in his younger years. A cigarette here and there, when he needed to ease his mind. He was anxious, and the nicotine calmed him.

He took another deep breath, exhaling the smoke from his lungs. He was only postponing the conversation that needed to be had, and increasing the amount of awkwardness that they would encounter during it. He couldn’t escape it now. But, wasn’t this what he’d wanted? A chance?

“Guy?”

He turned at the sudden voice, rougher than usual from sleep. Thomas stood in the middle of their small kitchen, curly hair sticking straight up as it had dried on the pillow, still wearing only a pair of cotton pajama pants. A seam mark from the sheet was pressed into his cheek.

The silence prickled the nape of Guy’s neck; Thomas was usually the one to say something. Holding his burning cigarette between two fingers, he moved past Thomas to the counter.

“I made coffee,” he murmured bluntly, reaching forth with his free hand to lift the pot away from the machine. Thomas said nothing, and Guy took another long drag of his cigarette. “Do you want some?”

“Not really.” Thomas stepped closer, watching as Guy set two cups on the counter anyway. “Guy, we should… you know, talk.”

The shorter man flicked his spent cigarette into the sink. Thomas didn’t bother to complain about it, and instead watched with annoyance as Guy poured sugar into the two cups. The lack of words between them created a tense atmosphere. Finally, Guy turned around.

“Here,” he held a cup out to Thomas, expression carefully neutral.

“I don’t want the damn coffee, Guy.”

Thomas’ voice held more anger than Guy was prepared for. Silently, he turned to set the mug down, drinking from his own instead. Thomas ran a hand back through his tousled hair.

“Fine. I have a conference to attend. Maybe when I get back tonight, you’ll be ready to talk.”

The taller man turned away, a mutter of “little boy” reaching Guy’s ears. He continued to sip his coffee as he listened to the sounds of dresser drawers opening and closing, footsteps, and running water in the sink. Finally, Thomas, dressed in a plain black suit, stepped out the door and into the hotel hallway without so much as a glance in Guy’s direction.

He washed his cup out in the sink, water carrying the cigarette butt down the garbage disposal drain. Setting the mug on the rack to dry, he padded across the carpeted floor to the bathroom and shut the door behind him, despite the solitude.

He knew Thomas wasn’t really angry with him… or, at least he hoped. Tugging his shirt over his head, Guy discarded it on the floor and gazed at himself in the mirror.

Why had he done that? Why had he clammed up? After last night, wouldn’t it have been easier to talk about it? Stepping out of his pants, he turned the shower on and got in, closing his eyes at the feel of the spray on his body.

He was scared.

It was difficult, really. Actually, it could be made very simple. How many girls had the two of the slept with – Thomas’ number was higher than Guy’s, but still – and how easy had it been?

… But this was different. Thomas was not just some girl that he would spend one night with, then send her on her way in the morning. He was not someone that he’d met thirty minutes ago at a party. It was the opposite, rather; they’d known each other since they were still in school, been best friends for almost thirty years, and the prospect of changing that was terrifying.

Guy finished up his shower and toweled himself off. As he traipsed back to his room and dressed, he dwelled on the thought that he really had nothing to do today. Thomas would likely be gone for most of the day, and Guy had no meetings to attend or plans of his own. With a heavy sigh, he discarded his towel in the laundry basket and flopped down on the couch, clicking on the TV.

The day dragged on, minutes seemingly lasting for hours at a time. Guy ordered pizza for breakfast, then reheated the leftovers for lunch. He spent his time carrying out tasks that would distract him; watching television, writing lyrics that he would throw away later, washing his clothes in the hotel machines down the hall. He sat on edge for hours, expecting to hear the door open, announcing Thomas’ return, all the while agonizing over the looming conversation to be had.

In fact, he anticipated it so readily, that he thought, perhaps, he was imagining the slotting of the keycard in the lock and the beep of granted entrance that followed. He didn’t turn – maybe he was the boy who cried wolf – but there was no denying the shutting thud of the door or footsteps on the carpeted floor.

“ _Mon dieu_ ,” came the breathy sigh as the taller man moved into the dining area, shrugging off his suit jacket. Guy glanced back. Thomas was all length; lanky legs and arms, and a long torso. His frame was slumped, though, mirroring his weary tone. Guy’s fingers ached to curl over his shoulders and massage the tense-yet-tired muscles.

Guy slid to turn back around, gazing down at the half-eaten slice of pizza on the table. The dull sound of the refrigerator door opening and closing reached his ears, then the clink of glass as Thomas poured himself a drink. The quiet was overwhelming.

“Do you want one?” Thomas finally asked.

“ _Oui_ ,” Guy replied, perhaps a little too eagerly. He waited on the sofa, tapping his socked-toe on the floor, until Thomas joined him, holding out a small glass matching his. Their fingers brushed as Guy took it from him, and he took a big gulp of the amber liquid – Bourbon; he recognized the taste – as soon as he could bring it to his lips.

They sat in what would have been comfortable silence, had the circumstances been different. Words weren’t always necessary between them; Guy almost preferred the quiet, and even Thomas could enjoy the lack of verbal communication. But now, there lingered the uneasy anticipation of the conversation from which there was no escaping.

“Hard day?” He forced the words from his mouth, swirling what was left of the whiskey around in his glass.

“Mmn,” Thomas hummed in agreement, taking a sip from his own glass. Guy could feel those dark hazel eyes on him, glancing sideways, and he kept his eyes glued on his glass. He was suddenly very nervous.

“Do you want to order Chinese food and we can talk while we–”

“I need a shower,” Guy mumbled quickly, jumping to his feet. He saw Thomas stand out of the corner of his eye as he moved over to the kitchen to leave his glass in the sink. As he turned around, he looked up through eyelashes the find Thomas standing in the direct line of the bathroom. With eyes cast back down, he made to brush past the taller male. Long fingers curled around his forearm, halting him.

“Guy. _Attendre_.”

The brunet hesitated for a long moment, fighting the urge to yank his arm away and run. Finally, he bowed his head, mumbling quietly.

“I’m listening.”

He heard a sigh from behind him; a soft breath, patient yet tired, and Guy felt a twinge of sympathy. He leaned back, reducing the tension in his body, and swallowed his nervousness. Thomas’ grip on his wrist loosened as he spoke.

“What do you want from me, Guy? What do you need me to do?”

His voice was gentle and his questions innocent enough, but Guy’s ears still turned red at the thoughts that sprang to mind. Biting his lower lip, he spoke carefully.

“I want… what we had last night. _Encore plus_.”

A pause, then a gentle tug until the backs of his knees hit the couch cushion. He sat down, glancing at Thomas as the other male sat beside him.

“Tell me more.”

The prompt was simple, yet oh-so complicated. Guy didn’t know where to begin, or where to end – or, perhaps there was no end. Maybe he could always come up with more things to say about Thomas; things that he loved about him, things that he did that annoyed the _shit_ out of him, things that he wanted for their future, things that he wanted now that he couldn’t get enough of–…

With an exhale, he gazed down at his hands as he intertwined his fingers. “Do I really have to say it, Thomas?”

He was silent for a moment, examining the nervousness etched upon his friend’s face. He leaned forward slightly on the couch. “What do you want, Guillaume?”

Blue eyes – the bluest of blue, indescribable, really – met brown-dominant hazel. Thomas still had the same look in his eyes, Guy recognized; that wild, hopeful look, confident that they could take on the world if they wanted to. Guy wasn’t so sure – he’d never been – but with Thomas by his side, he would’ve been compelled enough to try.

His mind had been so busy with nostalgia that he’d failed to answer the question. He’d also failed to notice how close the other had come; Thomas was almost nose to nose with him. Guy opened his mouth to speak. He barely mumbled, “Everything,” before lips pressed against his own.

The kiss was more passionate than the last, Thomas’ lips prompting an immediate response from Guy. His lips were soft and warm, moving against Guy’s, and when Thomas pulled away shyly, Guy surprised himself by following the others mouth, teeth nipping at parted lips, capturing the lower. Large hands came up to grip at Guy’s body, one at his waist, one on his shoulder, long fingers clutching at the curve there. The quickly growing heat between then had Guy’s blood pumping in his veins.

Thomas’ other hand lifted to Guy’s chest as he gently pushed him back to lie down on the couch. As his back touched the cushion, their lips parted for a brief moment. Guy was grateful for the breath.

“This is what you want, _oui?”_

Thomas’ voice was low and breathy against Guy’s jaw. Guy was almost sure Thomas could hear his heart hammering against his ribcage. Shifting slightly, Guy flushed at the hardness pressing against his thigh, and the corner of his lips quirked upward.

“I assume you want it too.”

Thomas’ smile was one of embarrassment. “ _Tais-toi_ ,” he muttered, lowering his head to nibble at Guy’s throat. He inhaled quickly, fingers gripping at Thomas’ shoulders as the other worked a mark into his skin. It was hard to believe, really, that his best friend of nearly thirty years was _finally_ acknowledging him in this way. He’d wanted this for a very long time, but, now that he had the opportunity, he didn’t know what to do. He’d never been intimate with a man before – and he doubted Thomas ever had either. What were they doing?

“Nervous?”

The husky voice tugged him out of his own mind. Pinching his lower lip between his teeth, he met the dark eyes that hovered above him as Thomas left his neck.

“A little.”

Thomas smiled faintly at the admittance. Wordlessly, he lowered his head to capture Guy’s lips in another kiss. Almost hesitantly, a hand wandered down the length of his torso to finally press his palm against him, and Guy hummed a soft moan that was muffled by Thomas’ mouth.

He rubbed him through his pants for another few minutes until he felt the labored rise and fall of Guy’s chest as he breathed heavily. Leaning back, he fixed the brunet with a half-lidded gaze as his fingers slid up Guy’s thighs to slip under the waistband of his sweatpants. He tugged them down, eyes locked on Guy’s face – he figured his friend was embarrassed enough. Tossing the pants aside, his fingers curled around ankles as he propped legs up on his shoulders before leaning forward. Maybe the couch hadn’t been the best place; the only lubrication he had was in his room, or in his mouth.

Guy watched Thomas bring his fingers to his lips, licking them. He averted his gaze, cheeks growing hot. After a moment, Thomas’ fingers traced along the curve of his rear, and Guy’s eyes slipped shut. A single, slick digit pressed inside him.

“ _Détendez-vous_ ,” Thomas murmured, feeling the other tense beneath him. Of course he didn’t want to hurt someone so dear to him, but he was having a hard time concealing his own need. “Breath, Guillaume.”

Guy forced a deep breath into his lungs as a second finger joined the first. It wasn’t pain as much as it was uncomfortably foreign. He focused his gaze on Thomas instead, taking in the crinkled brown of concentration and the contrastingly glazed eyes and always-parted lips.

When a third finger pressed into him, he winced, blunt nails biting into the sofa cushion. “T-Thomas,” he whined, seeming to adopt his friend’s stutter. With a kiss to his shoulder in apology, Thomas withdrew his fingers and sat back to undo his slacks.

He’d barely undone the first button before Guy batted his hands away to replace them with his own. Thomas watched as he tugged the zipper down, and the moment that soft hand wrapped around him, his head fell back. The strange sensation of feeling both too warm and too cool didn’t last very long, for Guy’s mouth was on him in a second, incredibly hot and moist.

Thomas had been on the receiving end of the act before, but no girl – regrettably, not even his wife – could compare to this. He’d never before yearned to watch so badly, nor had he ever craved to touch his partner while they took him into their mouth. He reached out to thread long fingers through dark locks that obscured those deep blue eyes – said eyes darted up to meet his as lips sank down further on his length.

“Guy,” he murmured senselessly, head falling back again as the entirety of his length disappeared into Guy’s mouth. A wordless moan escaped his lips as his tip touched the back of Guy’s throat. He missed the slight gag and watering eyes before Guy pulled back. Chest heaving, Thomas shook his head, fingers tightening in brown hair to pull him away. Guy surfaced with an embarrassing slurping sound, to which Thomas paid no mind.

“Guy,” he mumbled again, pushing the other back to lie on the sofa once more. Stormy eyes – both dark and cloudy – watched him as he spit shamelessly into his palm, stroking his already-sensitive length. He didn’t have to ask what came next.

Condoms were in the bedroom too, Thomas noted, but Guy didn’t seem bothered by the lack, and neither was Thomas. He was always careful, even during his more drunken escapades, and there was no concern for pregnancy here. Propping Guy’s legs up on his shoulders once more, he leaned forward, testing Guy’s flexibility. Noses mere inches apart, Thomas saw no strain in his expression.

_“Êtes-vous prêt?”_

Guy shook his head the slightest bit, then murmured an almost inaudible, “ _Oui_ ,” eyes slightly wide. The two broke into soft laughter; Thomas’ lengthy and Guy’s a singular, soft chuckle. As their smiles faded, Thomas leaned down to capture those bowed lips in a kiss. “Here we go,” he mumbled against Guy’s mouth as he pressed inside with a hand’s guidance.

Guy bit down on Thomas’ lip at the intrusion. A few inches in, a muffled moan escaped his throat. Breathless, Thomas stopped the movement of his hips. “Too much?”

“ _Non_ ,” he answered, almost too quickly. Thomas saw the strain now, in crinkled brow, tightly-shut eyes and a bottom lip captured between teeth, but if he had learned anything during their lengthy friendship, it was to trust Guy’s word. When he spoke, it was rarely a bluff.

By the time he hilted within the other, Thomas’ arms were trembling beneath his own weight. With an exhale that rustled Guy’s hair, he pushed himself back to sit up, daring to glance down. The sight of his cock buried within the eager body beneath him merely sent a hot shudder up his spine, making him twitch. Oceanic eyes gazed up at him, features more relaxed than before, and Thomas lingered on them for a moment. Slowly, his eyes wandered down to the curve of those lips, pressed so firmly together that it seemed as though they were about to quiver.

Actually, that was how Thomas’ whole body felt – about to tremble incessantly, as if all the tiny atoms within him were frazzled and vibrating.

“Move, _idiot_.”

With a breathless laugh, Thomas obliged his friend, retracting his hips and watching the wince that twisted Guy’s face. He wasn’t too fond of the lack of warmth either, and, eager to make up for the discomfort, he pressed back in, fingers sliding down Guy’s calf to curl around his ankle and hold his leg up and wide.

The foreign discomfort soon faded to an odd pleasure he’d never felt before. Being on the receiving end of the friction was enthralling, partially because he knew the bliss that was contorting Thomas’ face first-hand. Thomas’ position made it easy for Guy to reach between their bodies and stroke himself, but his hand was quickly pushed away and replaced by a much larger one. Long fingers wrapped around his girth with ease – a feat Guy, himself, could not achieve – and he groaned softly, head falling back against the cushion as Thomas pressed into him again. He developed a steady rhythm, stroking Guy in time with each hilt.

“F-Faster? Slower? T-Tell me,” he stammered, hazel eyes fixing on his friend’s face, hooded and pleading. He was already nearing his end.

“ _Baise-moi plus fort_ ,” Guy finally said, opting for a choice he’d not been given. With a slight smirk, Thomas leaned forward to reposition himself, lifting his body – along with Guy’s hips – so he wasn’t sitting back on his feet.

Guy wasn’t prepared for the stars that erupted in his vision.

He didn’t know much about karma sutra poses and what felt good where, but he did know that whatever Thomas was doing felt unparalleled. It was rough and raw; something feral that seemed to consume the both of them. They didn’t need languid movements or whispered nothings to make it intimate.

It wasn’t long before Thomas’ name tumbled from Guy’s lips, followed by a few curses in his native tongue as he reached his peak, spilling onto his own stomach. Thomas finished within him with almost an expression of relief – not that he would have pulled out had he had the chance.

“ _Putain_ , Guillaume…”

Thomas arms trembled violently as he supported his weight. He pulled out slowly, a soft breath escaping him as he watched Guy reach for his pants.

“They’ll stain,” Thomas murmured, reaching to stop him.

“I don’t care,” Guy mumbled, breathless and sated. He wiped his partially exposed stomach off, wriggled out of his probably-ruined shirt, and Thomas lowered his weight onto him, thankful to take the strain off his now-useless muscles.

They lay like that, on the couch, for a while; Guy completely unclothed and covered by Thomas’ body, Thomas’ rear the only skin exposed, pants haphazardly pushed off slim hips. They were silent until they caught their breath.

“How about that shower now?”

Guy sighed, seemingly contemplating the suggestion, then he nodded. “ _Oui_.”

Thomas pushed himself up to stand, offering out a hand. He watched Guy take it and stand beside him, nose wrinkled in… anticipation? Pain? Discomfort? He wasn’t sure. He leaned down for a soft kiss. “Let’s do that again,” he whispered against kiss-bruised lips, a smirk playing upon his own.

The look he received was scathing.


End file.
